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A Collection Of Imperfect Stories
These are not your normal faerie tales. The heroine is not always breathtakingly beautiful, the prince is not always brave or noble. And the evil witches just might have stories of their own. These are the stories that didn't make it into the dragonets's books. They were cut out, held far from dragonets's ears. Not for lack of happy endings (although there aren't many of those), but because perhaps they teach just a bit too much of the truth. These are stories woven with threads of darkness, the stories that are just a bit too close to reality for some. You don't have to read them all, they don't connect in any way. They are just here for you to pick from, if you want something a bit different than ordinary tales. You might not like these stories. They aren't for everyone. But every story, no matter how strange, deserves a chance to be told. Stories From The Kingdom Of Rain How The RainWings Got Their Colours There was a time, long ago, when the RainWings could not change their scales any more than the other tribes could. They were hatched in any colour of the rainbow, and that was the colour they would stay for the rest of their lives. RainWings did not have stripes or splashes of colour, no. They were painted the same muted shade from their horns to their eyes to the tips of their wings. The Queen, at this point in time, had seven beautiful daughters. And oh, how they shone! Their colours were pure and clean, not muted or dulled by gray and white. The first daughter was red. The red of fresh-spilled blood and poppies under the sun. The second was the orange of a pure flame, the third as yellow as the sun. And so the rainbow continued, all the way down to the youngest daughter. It is said, my dear readers, that she was the most beautiful dragon to ever walk the earth. She was delicate and graceful, her horns had just the right amount of curl, and her wings were perfectly proportioned. But her scales were the most gorgeous of all. Bright, gleaming violet, swirled with dark indigo and red. It was said that she was the closest a RainWing had ever come to having more than one colour on her scales. She was perfection. Pure and simple. RainWings came from all over to paint her, to simply brush a talon along her gleaming scales... Bored yet? Good, because this is not a story about the Queen's most beautiful daughter. When Mylinoe was hatched, three moons shone bright in the sky. They were the only ones that witnessed her crack out of her egg in the royal hatchery, silent and solemn. Be brave, daughter. ''They whispered to her. ''Know that we love you. And that you must be strong. ''The Queen's eighth daughter. And her last. When the Queen had known she was with egg the first time, she had gone, as all new mothers-to-be went, to the Watcher. The Watcher lived on top of an ancient tower in the heart of the jungle, staring at the Moons with her blind eyes. She was old. She had been old when the Queen's mother had come, and all the mothers before her. The Queen had approached in silence. "Ah," The Watcher had croaked. "So at last you have come." "Yes." Said the Queen. For the rest of her life she would wonder how the blind NightWing had sensed her arrival. "Yes," She said again. "I have come for the futures of my dragonets." The Watcher nodded slowly, her milky eyes seeming to fix on the Queen, even with her blindness. "You will have many daughters," She said at last. "And they will be all the colours of the rainbow." The Queen thanked the Watcher, and when the old NightWing said no more she turned to fly away. "Wait." The Queen turned. "Change is coming. It will be hard, and it will likely hurt. Know this then: that appearances can be deceiving, and that your youngest daughter will one day be the greatest Queen of them all." And so the Queen left, with this tucked into her heart. Years passed, and what the Watcher had said proved to be true, as it always was. The Queen had many daughters, one for each colour of the rainbow. And of course her youngest was the greatest of them all! Why, she hadn't needed the Watcher to tell her that! It was written on every one of her perfect purple scales. That was it, then. Her greatest daughter had been hatched, for there was certainly no way another dragon could ever be more beautiful than her. The Queen continued to have eggs, but the dragonets were all male after that. And so by the time Mylinoe hatched, the guards only checked the royal hatchery every few days. There was only one egg due to hatch that morning. The guards who went in to check on the newly hatched Prince rushed out screaming. There was a monster crawling from that egg, they said. A dragonet so horribly deformed they could hardly stand to look at it. And worse, it was female. So begins the story of Mylinoe, the RainWing with no colours at all. "You are ugly," Her mother told her, fear and disgust written across her snout. "Your scales are clear like glass and your body is twisted. Your eyes are too big and your wings are too small. You are a monster. You are not fit to be a Princess." And so the last Princess of the RainWings was sent to work in the kitchens, covered in a cloak so that she might not upset the staff. She wore heavy gloves on her talons to hide her clear scales and the veins that pulsed underneath. "You are ugly, " Her sisters taunted. "Your scales are clear like glass and your body is twisted. Your eyes are too big and your wings are too small. You are a monster. You are not fit to be a Princess." The snatched her cloak away, and though her scales they could see her muscles and veins. When they flipped her over on her back they could see all her organs, glistening wetly in the light. "Look!" Cried her most beautiful sister. "Look here, you can see her heart!" They laughed and shrieked with disgust. ''Be glad of your heart. The flowers in the vase seemed to say. Pity your sisters, for they have none, and they are jealous. As Mylinoe grew older, she grew stronger as well. Her bones no longer jutted out from her skin, her crumpled wings unfolded a bit. And although her eyes were still much too big for her head, she did seem to grow into them a bit. Years of scrubbing floors and stirring pots built up callouses on her talons as surely as the words of her sisters built them onto her heart. She no longer cried alone at night. There was plenty to cry for, of course, but if Mylinoe cried over everything that went wrong she would certainly never leave her bed. By the time Mylinoe was nine, she had fallen into an easy rhythm. She knew everything about the palace and its inner workings. She knew how to scan any room she entered and how to note the little details. She had her sisters's routines memorized perfectly, if only so that she might avoid them. Look, the flowers whispered, Listen, murmured the trees. In the week before the Queen's sixtieth hatching-day a stranger came to the palace in the rainforest. He was a RainWing, of that it was certain, but the exact colour of his scales is a fact lost to history. For the sake of the story, let us say they were blue. He walked with a limp in one of his back legs, and carried a small brown pouch. "I am a powerful animus," he told the Queen. "And I have travelled far for you." "I have a gift for you, you see. I can make you a cloak of all the colours in the rainbow, that will fit perfectly to your scales." The Queen readily agreed (her scales were quite a nasty shade of peach), and said that she would love such a gift. A rather foolish move, to agree so easily to an animus, but in her defence she'd been in the shadow of her own daughter for so long that she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have all the attention on her. Poor thing. She never even stood a chance. The animus set to work right away. It was a week and a day until the Queen's hatching-day, and he'd need every minute. The Queen offered him her finest rooms in the palace, but he simply tossed a pebble to the ground and from that his workshop grew. He asked for only one thing, that each day one of the Queen's daughters would join him in the workshop, and on the last day they would present the gift together. The Queen was wary, but agreed. And so the animus walked into his workshop with the eldest Princess behind him. She did not emerge again. The next day, he sent for the next Princess. As the days went on, each Princess was called into the workshop, and none returned. Stay away, ''hissed the vines on the trees. ''Pain, ''cried the moss as Mylinoe strode past that building that hadn't been there a week ago, holding a bucket of scraps. And yet as much as they warned her away, Mylinoe found herself drawn towards the stone structure. She tried to peek in the windows, but they were firmly shuttered. On the eighth morning, the animus didn't send for a Princess. Instead, he sent word the the cloak was almost ready, and that it would be done by the next day. He would present it in the evening, at the Queen's hatching-day banquet, and then her daughters would be returned to her. It was on this eighth morning that Mylinoe finally stepped up to the workshop. She wore her cloak, but there was little to be done about her head. Her skull showed through her flesh, her jaw muscles glistened in the pale sunlight. Gathering her courage, she knocked hard on the stone door. The animus who opened it did not flinch at the sight of her. She took it as a sign to speak. "I am here to ask if I might see my sisters." The dragon stared at her. He began to laugh. "No," He said. "You may not come in. Only those with royal blood may cross this doorstep." "I am Mylinoe, the eighth RainWing Princess. I ''demand ''you let me in. I must speak with my sisters." "You are not beautiful," He told her. "No," She said. "But I am brave." "You are ugly," He sneered. "Your scales are clear like glass and your body is twisted. Your eyes are too big and your wings are too small. You are a monster. You are not fit to be a Princess. Get lost!" He slammed the door, and she fled in tears. Not for herself, she'd long stopped crying over words spoken to her. But for what she witnessed beyond the door, lying on the workbench. Her sister's perfect violet scales, scattered like puzzle pieces, some still wet with her blood. Mylinoe ran into the jungle, her cloak tearing from her as fled. She stumbled into a clearing filled with flowers, and began to sob. ''Why do you cry? ''Asked the ancient trees. ''My sisters... ''She sobbed. ''I must help them. They are so cruel. ''The vines hissed. ''They have no hearts. ''The flowers sang. ''No, Said Mylinoe, But I do. The jungle was silent. Considering. We will help you. ''It said at last. ''Because you are our daughter, and we trust you. We will protect you. It was a different dragon who returned the animus's workshop that night. Only a day before the Queen was to receive her gift. The trees had covered Mylinoe in flowers. They spilled over her wings and shoulders, danced down her tail. She was vibrant. Every inch of her covered in colours. Only her eyes could not be changed, a colourless slushy gray. Most versions of this tale claim that Mylinoe was not afraid. That she stood straight, wings neatly folded, tail curled calmly behind her as she waited for the door to open. This is not true. She was shaking so hard that petals fell from her like rain. Her claws tapped an irregular rhythm against the doorstep with the force of her trembling. But she was there. And sometimes, just being there is enough. She did not hesitate to knock on the door. And her voice was steady as she spoke to the dragon who opened it. "My name is Mylinoe. I am the eighth RainWing Princess. I have come for my sisters, and I will not leave until I have seen them." "You are ugly," He told her. "Yes," She said. "But a Princess all the same." The dragon was silent for a minute, then nodded. He stepped back swinging the door open with a flourish. And Mylinoe stepped into the workshop. "Come," The animus said. "Eat with me." So Mylinoe sat at the plain wooden table and ate starfruit with honey. Don't drink the wine, '' murmured the flowers woven through her horns. So she didn't, and when his back was turned she switched their cups, quick as could be. ''Good, ''said the flowers. ''Good. '' Within half an hour he was asleep, drunk on his own drugged wine. Mylinoe stood on silent talons, and went to find her sisters. The workshop, it seemed, was much larger on the inside than the outside. She hunted through many rooms. Quick and quiet. She called her sister's names as loudly as she dared, one by one. Half an hour passed. No answer. But she ''knew. ''Knew it in her bones. They were there and they were hurting, and she was going to find them, or she would die trying. The workshop was a maze of rooms, and several times Mylinoe wondered if she was going in circles. Finally she found the stairwell leading into the basement. It smelled of mold and blood and pain. Mylinoe trembled as she stepped downwards, her talons clicking on the wet stone. There were no torches to light the way, but Mylinoe with her abnormally large eyes was well suited to the darkness. She called her sister's names, one for each step. Her voice wavered and shook. She did not cry. And when she reached the bottom step of the curving stairwell she peeked around the wall and saw them. A single torch lit the damp room. In the corner bound with vines, lay her sisters. Across the room, finished at last, hung her mother's cloak of many colours. One of her sisters peered up at her with violet eyes. Large, owl-like eyes that were the only spot of colour left in her once-brilliant sister. She reached out a shaking talon. And Mylinoe began to laugh. "Mylinoe?" Whispered the sister with beautiful yellow eyes. Other voices began dragging themselves through the dark as one by one her sisters woke. They pulled apart, and without looking at their eyes there was no way Mylinoe could tell them apart. For their scales were clear as glass, all the colour drained into the cloak behind her. Their eyes had been stretched too large, their wings had crumpled and broken as the scales were stripped from them. ''Look at them, the flowers buzzed. Who's the monster now? Nothing had changed, Mylinoe realized. Her sisters had always been the monsters. And she could see then, how easy it would be to to deny her beating heart. To tell them that she too was a monster, she'd become a monster so they wouldn't break her. She could leave them here, and no one would ever know that she could've done anything. Do it, the flowers urged. They deserve it. Slit their throats and leave. "Mylinoe? Is that you?" Her violet-eyed sister, the one who had been so beautiful. She sounded terrified. So Mylinoe stepped forwards, and held out a talon to help her rise. And as her sister reached up to take it, the door behind them banged open. The flowers drew back, squeaking shrilly as the animus entered the room. He was furious. "I'd enchanted myself to heal quickly a while back. I hadn't known it would make poison go through my body much quicker. An interesting experiment, I must admit. Although... may I say that I was a bit... worried when I woke to see you gone." He stepped towards Mylinoe, and her sister drew back. "This workshop is filled with dangerous items, you know. I'd hate it if you were to get hurt. Or lost, of course. And if, by chance, you saw something that you weren't supposed to see..." His smile turned dangerous, a darkly twisted thing. Quite a good little liar, aren't you. Why, I never even guessed that you'd switched the cups." He paused by the cloak, running a talon over it almost reverently. He murmured something softly, too low for Mylinoe to hear. She tensed, preparing to run. But her sisters... she couldn't leave them. Her heart would not let her. The animus must have caught her glancing at where they lay, because his smile grew ever wider. "They've been awfully cruel to you, haven't they." "Yes," Said Mylinoe. It was the truth. Her sisters's already large eyes widened in fear. The animus held out the cloak to her. "Come see it," He said. Mylinoe stepped forwards, but did not touch the cloak of many colours. "Smart dragoness," He crooned. "No doubt you would try to stop your mother from wearing it as well. But I have a secret for you, little glass dragon. Would you like to hear it?" "And what," Mylinoe asked. "Would be the payment?" "Ah. You are awfully clever. In fact, your cleverness is what caused this whole mess. So no, there is no payment owed, although I would like to make you an offer." "Tell me your secret, and I shall hear your offer." At this the animus leaned in closer, his snout only inches from her ear. "Your mother is dead," He hissed. "And your sisters are soon to follow. I sent a knife to kill her as soon as I awoke, an enchanted knife that can cut through any material." He held up the knife then, the blade still stained red. It had no doubt returned to his talon the minute it finished its awful work. Mylinoe did not give him the satisfaction of flinching. He would have been better off telling her that the Queen was dead, for she had accepted long ago that she had no mother. "Is that all you have to say?" He hissed his displeasure at her. "My offer, if you would hear it." She dipped her head in a mocking bow. "Of course. By all means, ask away." "Take the knife from my hand, and use it to kill your sisters. Then the cloak will be yours, as well as the throne of the RainWings. You would be the most beautiful dragon in Pyrrhia, and no one would ever call you a monster again, with your scales in every colour of the rainbow. I would be your closest advisor. And of course, we needn't stop there. We could rule kingdoms, my darling. Why, with your mind and my powers, we could rule the world." I would be lying if I said Mylinoe didn't consider his offer. The flowers all whispered different things, a cacophony of silent sound. Enough, ''She told them. And strangely, they fell silent. She turned to the cloak, the colours swirling in a way she'd never seen before. To the animus, his talon outstretched, a silent offer lingering there. She looked to the knife, and then to her sisters still curled on the floor, the sisters who'd hurt her almost every day of her life. At last she looked inside herself, to the heart so tough and calloused. And there she had her choice. "Thank you," She said. "But the colour of my scales will not change the colour of my heart. And I have never wanted to rule kingdoms." His face twisted in rage, and then he was moving. Lunging not for her, but the cloak. The knife clattered to the floor as he gripped it with both talons and swung it over her head. ''It was cursed, ''she realized with no small amount of horror. And then the world went dark. Back in the workshop basement, the animus watched Mylinoe carefully. The cloak didn't quite fit her right. It was made for a dragon who did nothing but lounge on a throne all day. It was not made for a dragon with twisted limbs, a dragon muscular from days spent working in the kitchens. But it would be enough, he reassured himself. There were three curses on the cloak. The first being that the wearer could never take it off. "Mylinoe." She snapped her head to him. "Pick up the knife." She did so, her movements rough and jerky. Dead flowers tumbled from her as she moved. And there lay the second curse, the curse of utter obedience. The wearer would have no thoughts of their own, would obey his every command. Mylinoe held the knife, face blank, awaiting his next order. "Kill them." She turned towards her sisters, raising the knife. And then she hesitated. "What are you waiting for? Kill them! Do it now!" Mylinoe didn't move. And then she pivoted, dead flowers shaking from her wings like rain as she drove the enchanted knife straight into the animus's heart. The jungle had protected her, true to its word. And she knew that the flowers would never speak to her again. They'd given it up, the part of them that could whisper in her ear. They'd given up their lives to save her from that curse. She didn't know whether or not to be relieved. Blood dripped onto the floor as she pulled the knife from the animus's lifeless body. She stared down at her talons, covered in scales of deep red. And then she pressed the knife into his neck, cutting through bone with that magical knife. His head fell away from his body. Just to be sure, she told herself. Purple swirled through Mylinoe's new scales as she stood with her sisters and watched the workshop burn. She still held the enchanted knife in her talons, blood drying on the blade. And then she turned and led her sisters back to the palace. The servants were in an uproar. The knife had just come shooting through the darkness, they said. Dead the day before her sixtieth hatching-day, the Queen hadn't even had the time to scream. They fell silent at the sight of Mylinoe, marching up the path with a bloody knife in her talon and her mother's cloak wrapped around her scales. It was assumed instantly that she'd been the one to kill her mother, and although she didn't confirm it, she did nothing to shut down the rumours that spread like wildfire through the Rain Kingdom. Her sisters knew the truth, or part of it at least. But no one seemed to want to listen to them, to Mylinoe's amusement. Later that evening, the eight of them stood alone in the throne room. The empty throne glared from the dais behind them, as if daring one of them to take it. "I am the oldest," Her red-eyed sister said. "Since none of us killed our mother, I should be Queen." "I am the most beautiful," Said the one with violet eyes. "''I should be the one to rule." She wasn't beautiful anymore, not even pretty, but old habits are hard to break. "No," Said Mylinoe. "All of you might have an equal claim to the throne, but only Heirs may take it, and you are no longer Princesses." Her sisters cried in outrage, but Mylinoe held firm. "You are ugly," She told them. "Your scales are clear like glass and your bodies are twisted. Your eyes are too big and your wings are too small." She paused. Smirked a bit. "None of these would matter, were it not for the fact that I can see right through you, and I can see that you have no hearts at all. It doesn't matter if you are beautiful or not. You are monsters are the same." She did not smile, but her scales glowed purple with pride as she spoke the final line of the taunts they'd given her for years. "And you are not fit to be Princesses." A different dragon might have killed Mylinoe's sisters then, or sent them down to work in the kitchens as she'd been forced to. But she decided that for them, the worst punishment would be to live long, full lives stripped of their beauty. No longer royalty, she cast them out of the palace to find work as any other citizen of the Rain Kingdom might. She did not beat them, did not treat them as dirt. Instead, she simply turned away. Maybe her choice wasn't the right one. Had the jungle spoken to her at that moment, it surely would've called for blood. Mylinoe was tired of being told what to do. She'd made her choice, and she stuck to it. And maybe it was a flaw in the enchantments, of maybe it was intentional, but every RainWing hatched after that day had scales of all the colours in the rainbow. And as for the third curse, well, that one held true. Never again would Mylinoe be able to lie so flawlessly, nor would any other RainWing. Not when their scales changed their colours, writing their emotions across them in great splashes of colour. One might assume Mylinoe a terrible Queen, for while her sisters had been attending meeting on diplomacy and trade she'd been peeling fruits and scrubbing floors. But she remembered the simple lessons the flowers had given her since the day she'd hatched. Look, listen. '' Her first decree, only hours after she was made Queen, was to ban the use of animus magic anywhere in the Kingdom of Rain. And that is the story of how the RainWings got their colours - and their Queen. Mylinoe only asked two things of all her subjects. Their loyalty and their honesty. As it was, no one ever called her beautiful. Her rainbow scales didn't fit right and her eyes were an eerie, colourless gray. Her limbs were twisted and her wings would never let her fly. She ruled with compassion in one talon and wisdom in the other. She was brave and strong. And as the Watcher had predicted all those years ago, she was the greatest Queen the RainWings had ever had, before or since. Stories From The Kingdom Of The Sky Warning, this one is kind of dark. Black Cliffs, White Wings It was common knowledge in the village of Redwinter that one did not walk alone by the Black Cliffs after dark. Well, it had been common knowledge back when Redwinter existed. Now all that is left after the town on the Wingtip Peninsula blew into the sea are the stone ruins of a few houses. If you were to stand on the edge of the cliff and look down, you would see the waves crashing against the shards of rock. You would see ice breaking in the water, it's almost as cold as the Ice Kingdom here. If you were lucky you would see the beach down the coast, not made of sand but sharp black pebbles. Most of the time the view is shrouded in fog however. Don't get too preoccupied with looking though. And don't get too close to the edge. They like to push dragons off. If the fog is so thick you can't see the crashing waves below, back up. Turn around and go back the way you came. Do not fly, you will fly out to sea. If fog obscures the ground below, do not keep walking. You will walk off the edge, no matter which direction you were going. Sit down and grasp the ground firmly with your talons. If you listen, you can still hear dragonets screaming. This is not the site of a happy ending. There was a time, long ago, when the waters by the cliffs ate dragonets. Chewed them up and spat them out, frozen cold, wings white, lungs still filled with air. There was a time when the mist grew tendrils that chilled and pulled. Fog-spirits, they called them. Sea-wraiths. There was a time when a town stood on this spot, proudly boasting the title of the most northern town in the Sky Kingdom. It's gone now, ripped apart by the ocean in a rage. Sometimes, if you walk on the beach after a storm, you'll find perfect little bones, washed up amidst the stones. Be careful. They're sharp. This wasn't always a ghost town. Step away from the cliffs, little one, and let me tell you how this came to be. As far as dragonethoods went, Haze's was fairly good. He'd spent most of it running through the wood to the South of Redwinter, wild with his friends. They stayed away from the cliffs to the North, or at least most of them did. Late at night, Haze would sneak out to stand by the edge, staring into the gloom below. The fog would swirl around his talons, a friendly sort of touch. He spoke to it, often, the rambling words of a dragonet with no one else to talk to. Sometimes, he thought he could hear answers floating back to him on the wind. The fog swirled and undulated. It was like an echo, snatching breath from his lips only to return it, slightly changed. Thick billows of mist, taunting, twirling. They were harmless. They were deadly. They were the soft touch of an old friend, who you know is dead beyond the shadow of a doubt, and you lean into it anyways. Haze was afraid of them. His fear could never stop him from staring into them, and wondering what would happen if he jumped. It was on one such cold night that the mists first spoke to him. "Do you love us?" They had voices like the crashing waves. The had voices like shards of rock scraping together. The sound of them was like the sound of the sea on a cold winter's morning, when glittering shards washed up on the beach, and you couldn't tell which were ice and which were broken glass, crushed in rage. "Yes." The word forced its way out of him, and he tried to catch it in his talons but it was already gone, spiraling out over the waves. A soft, hushed laugh answered him, the laugh of one who knows a secret that they just might choose to share. It was a pleased laugh. It warmed his cold claws and tail. Deep inside him, his heart chilled, like a veil of mist wafting through his body. "Do you love us more than anything?" "Yes." He felt it shift, felt that cold wind brush him again. And then his mind was his own, and he was left to wonder why he hadn't noticed it leaving. The mist dissipated with the watery light of dawn, and Haze stood alone on the cliff, stiff and sore and chilled to the bone, wondering how many hours he'd been there. He could only barely remember the conversation - if he could even call it that. He loved the fog. Didn't he? After that day, Haze snuck out more and more often to stand by the cliffs. He gave them his problems. He gave them his worries. He bundled up painful feelings in his talons and threw them into the fog, leaving behind a blessed, mist-chilled numbness. And every time, the asking price was the same. "Do you love us?" "Yes." "Are you ours?" "I am yours." "What would you do for us?" "Anything. Anything at all." Until Haze was four, he was certain that the mists would never hurt him. They might lure other dragonets to a terrible death, but not him. He was special. He was untouchable. He was ''theirs. He stepped up to the cliffs later than usual that night. He'd hoped they wouldn't notice, but he'd again underestimated them. "You are late." The mists hissed their displeasure, the sound of it filling him like an icy stone. "Yes." He knew not to lie to them, because they could see the truth. "Why?" "I'm sorry. I-it won't happen again." "That does not answer our question, little one." "I was with my sister." "Do you love her?" "Yes." "More than us?" He hesitated, and for them it was answer enough. The mists pulled back as if scalded, then circled around violently. Stories from the Kingdom of the Sea There was a time, long ago, when the sea was as violent and sharp as a tyrant's smile. When the ocean could kill more dragons in an hour than a year of bloody warfare. But of course, there wasn't a lot of warfare back then. They were all one, back then, or was the ocean many? It didn't really matter. The MudWings would claim that they'd been shaped from earth and fire, sculpted out of warm clay by a divine hand. The SandWings thought they'd fallen from the sky amid pieces of the clouds, and crashed into a barren world, and made it their own. But the SeaWings alone knew the truth. There was an old Aquatic proverb, from a time when dragons. __FORCETOC__ Category:Fanfictions Category:Fanfictions (Incomplete) Category:Content (Skydream7) Category:Fanfictions (Semi-Canon) Category:Genre (Short Story)